


Torn

by AgentHenry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha - Freeform, Enemy Pack, F/M, Family, Lost Kid, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sinister Motives, Slow Build, Special kid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentHenry/pseuds/AgentHenry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a wolf cub is found in the woods, Sheriff Stilinski is ready to call Animal Control and consider the matter closed. When the cub turns into a two year old boy, that number soon becomes Stiles'. </p><p>Nameless and abandoned, Stiles is more than willing to keep the boy he calls Koda safe while he and the others look for any sign of another pack nearby. With Derek, one of only two born wolves he knows, to help him understand what Koda might be going through, Stiles is sure they can handle things. But not even Derek understands how a small boy can have the red eyes of an Alpha. And they soon wonder if Koda was abandoned for a more sinister reason. </p><p>Leaving Derek torn: Give the baby back or deny every instinct he has that says not to become attached?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WalkingDredd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkingDredd/gifts).



The call comes in around ten pm. 

Sheriff Stilinski is finishing up and ready to leave, looking forward to sleeping in a nice warm bed rather than the old office couch. He dots the Is, crosses the Ts and closes the case file, leaving it on his desk for morning. Getting to his feet, the sheriff stretches his back, runs a hand through his graying hair and fixes his belt. That is when Deputy Parrish comes to him, knocking once and entering before he can be invited. 

It's become a habit, more so when they're the among the small few still at the station this late, and Stilinski only shakes his head before asking the younger man what it is. 

"There have been calls about a disturbance; residents living near the woods are complaining of hearing cries in there. A couple are worried it might be a child."

Parrish explains this calmly and quickly, looking ready to go out and see what to make of the calls. Since finding out he was among the supernatural a few years back, he's become more and more dedicated to his job, feeling like he can do anything. Stilinski almost gives him the go-ahead, really feeling the days of work getting to him, but he can't quite bring himself to. Ever since his son Stiles had moved out, he'd become less willing to go back to an empty house. True, Stiles only lived in San Francisco and he visited regularly, wanting to see his father, Scott and the rest of 'the pack', he even stayed some weekends, but Stiles had a life and a job down there and he always went back. 

"I'm on it, Parrish. I was heading home anyway; I can swing by and take a look," he says with an assured nod. 

The disappointment in Parrish's eyes is only there for a second or so, then he gives a polite smile and a quick 'sir', going back to his desk. Stilinski thinks of calling him back and telling the man to go home, he's been at the station about as long as he has, but holds it back - Parrish will only insist on finishing a few things and remain in his seat. At least the kid actually went home at some point. 

Grabbing his coat, Stilinksi shrugs it on and makes his way out, nodding in goodbye when his colleagues meet his gaze. The car journey to the woods isn't too far and he's met with who he guesses were the worried callers - an older woman who usually called about her cat and a young couple, a child of their own hovering at the front door. 

"It's not too far away, we can hear the poor thing clearly enough," the old woman tells him the moment he's out of the cruiser. "And that's with my hearing." 

"You're sure it sounds like a child?" Stilinski asks them, wanting to confirm the source of the sound before going in. A child he can handle, but he knows exactly what can roam around in the woods. He's seen enough during his time on the force, long before he'd known about Scott and werewolves. Back when he hadn't had answers. 

The woman on his left nods, absolutely sure, and he supposes he could consider it a reason to believe her even if it isn't proof - mother's intuition is a powerful thing; his wife had always known when something was wrong with Stiles. But her husband shrugs, his lips pursed. 

"It sounded like a cry, one a child might make when they want a parent, but there was something about it. It wasn't quick bursts of tears, it was elongated, like a..."

"Howl?" Stilinski finished when the young man hesitated. 

He doesn't want to say, is clearly uncomfortable, and looks to his wife as though they'd had this argument the whole time they were waiting for him. But he eventually nods. "Yeah. Like a howl."

"I know what I heard, Steve," his wife snaps at him, too distressed for it to have any real bite. She turns to the sheriff. "I know what I heard and I swear it was a child. There is a child lost in those woods at night; that's not safe."

"I'll go look for them," he promises her. "Please go back inside; everything will be fine now. I'll make sure the child is out and safe." 

"Thank you," she whispers and allows her husband to escort her back inside. He catches her pick up her daughter and hold her tight before turning to the old woman and gesturing for her to go in, too. 

Looking in the direction of the woods, aware of the dark and shadows hiding more ominous surroundings, Stilinski considers calling Derek before swallowing the nerves he feels building and walking through them. There is always something coming to Beacon Hills, whether for refuge or something worse, but the guys are always around to stop it or lend assistance and they hadn't heard of a single thing happening in a few months. They would have told him if something was in the woods, they always do now. 

It isn't long before he, too, hears the high pitched whine coming from the left. Silently agreeing with the husband, Stilinski heads in that direction, his torch moving from left to right to light his way and allow him to spot the source. He hears it again and spins to the right, finding it in between a small cluster of trees. He can't make it out at first, but after taking a step forward and focusing the light, Stilinski sees that the culprit is a small wolf cub; its small legs quiver under his bigger body, one looking like it's been twisted, and it cries again as it stumbles closer. His head remains down, looking at the ground, like a human would to check the path. Finally, it stops, unable to climb over the root of a tree that's come up from the ground. 

It looks harmless enough and if he was anything like his son, he'd consider the animal beautiful, with shaggy brown fur that looks soft to touch. But Stilinski knows better than to get any closer. Instead, he takes out his phone and looks for the number for Animal Control; they will know what to do better than he can. 

What happens next stops Stilinski in his tracks, his finger frozen over the button to call them. He's never seen a wolf transformation before, despite knowing three werewolves and a coyote, but this is something that has his heart almost stopping. The cub trips over the root trying to get over, his fur disappearing and pale skin taking its place. It is a small child who ends up on the other side, screaming as his body collides with the ground. 

It's the scream that snaps Stilinski out of it, forces him to get past the idea that someone has lost a baby. He rushes over and picks up the child, covering his naked body with his coat and taking care not to touch the still twisted arm. For a moment, he considers taking the baby to the hospital; it's the best place to deal with the arm and make sure he's healthy and safe while Stilinski finds his parents. But werewolves heal, so he doesn't know what he'll actually say, and he's never dealt with another pack before; he's a little out of his depth here. 

But there are people who will probably know what to do and with the help of Parrish, he can probably keep things quiet for a day or two if the others can tell him how to deal with a werewolf child. 

The baby is a little calmer as he walks back to the car; he is still sniffling, hiccuping from crying too hard. But there's no screaming. It's only when he comes out of the woods and sees his car, that Stilinski remembers that he hasn't needed a car seat in almost twenty years and that regulations have changed since Stiles was a baby. 

He knows that he can't strap the kid in with just a seatbelt, even if he is about two years old and can sit up by himself; it's not safe and he won't risk it. So he figures that going to the young couple might be the best course of action. 

They must have been watching, because the front door opens as he walks up the path and the young woman calls for her husband, saying she was right. But all Stilinski sees on her face is relief. 

"I need a car seat and some clothes for him. Can you help?" 

Nodding, she opens the door for him and let's them step through. Her husband is at the living room door, disbelief clear as he watches the baby in his arms. So far the kid has remained human, but Stilinski has heard about a lack of control among younger werewolves and he prays the kid doesn't turn again - he must have turned at least twice if the wife heard the cry before the husband heard the howl. 

"Lauren, you get the clothes and I'll look for Hannah's old car seat."

They work quickly and are ready in minutes; Lauren comes back with a sleepsuit and a bag, handing the garment over while she roots around the house. Carefully, Stilinski is able to put the outfit on without hurting his arm and is able to keep it hidden so the couple don't ask questions. Steve is back with a seat just as his wife gets to his side with the bag. He fastens the baby in the seat; it's a little too small for him, but does the trick. 

"I packed a few things he might need right away; a couple of bottles, some formula, diapers, clothes. Oh, and a pacifier." She holds it up and the baby hesitantly accepts it. "In case you can't get him to child services right away. I can't believe someone so small was in the woods. He'll... he'll be okay now, won't he?"

Unsure of how to answer that, not when he wants to keep things as quiet as possible so the whole town doesn't gossip about a lost baby, Stilinski only nods his head. "We're going to make sure he's taken care of." 

Thanking them for his time, Stilinski leaves the house and gets the baby in the car. Only instead of driving to the station, he drives home. He needs to make a call and until he know the right number to choose, he can't let anyone other than Parrish - maybe - see the baby. 

At the house, he put the seat onto the living room floor, thankful to see him fast asleep; his arm must be healing if he can rest through it. Sitting on the couch in front of him, Stilinski goes through everyone he might be able to call. Scott and Kira are away for the weekend and he doesn't want to disturb them when they'll be home in a day or two anyway; he has Lydia's number in case of emergencies but he doesn't know where she is and doesn't feel all that comfortable calling someone he hasn't really spoken to in months. He supposes his best options are Derek or Melissa McCall, since he is a werewolf and she is a nurse, but he doesn't feel comfortable calling him either and she might be working - the last thing he wants is someone else from the hospital finding out, not until he knows it's safe to do so. 

There's only one person Stilinski trusts to keep this quiet and help. His plans aren't always the best, but are always with the right intentions. And he's comfortable with the others, so will be able to get their help and confide in them with this secret. It would take some time, which means the baby will have to stay at the house, but that will give him time to call Parrish and make sure things will be ready for their investigation into finding the child's parents in the morning.

Making up his mind, Stilinski grabs his phone and hopes the guy is still awake. 

He calls Stiles.


	2. Making Plans

Stiles doesn't like to think of himself as what people like to call him. Busybody is just so childish, something he also doesn't like to think of himself as - though he won't lie, he knows he can be. He also doesn't like the more strongly worded version - nosy bastard. He just doesn't. For one, it is so not true (much) and when he does pry, it can because of life and death reasons that need to be taken care of. Seriously, he's only looking out for people when he's breaking into their offices and going through their drawers or banging on their door until they give him something. 

Not always. But a lot. 

Okay, not a lot. But sometimes and when it has something to do with his pack back home. Which doesn't happen all that often in San Francisco. But he does get to hear quite a bit and has been able to give information back to them, which they say have helped. So Stiles doesn't consider the move to be a complete waste, even with the name-calling and the threats and the spitting. Yeah, he really doesn't like the spitting. 

But, he supposes, that comes with being a journalist. The idea to become one started in Beacon Hills, in his senior year of high school; he wanted a way of gathering information on whatever else might be out there to prepare the pack before people died. It wasn't the best idea because he had no idea how to go about it, until Derek joked - yeah, he jokes, though it's usually to mock you - about journalists always getting in the way of people's business and finding things they shouldn't find. Stiles laughed it off until Lydia explained the potential benefits; it wasn't really the job, she said, more the skills that come with being one and the things he could find out while there. They get the stories, they know what goes on in the world. Simply put. 

So Stiles chose journalism. Animal attacks in the nearby area; he would know and the pack would investigate. Strange acts that are different from human nature; he would know and the pack would investigate. That was life. Though he went to Berkeley, news came from all over the country and he found people willing to talk. It wasn't until after college, when his small reputation of finding the weirder stories attracted the bigger papers, that he realized he was actually good at the job. When San Francisco called, he couldn't not answer. 

But that leads back to the name-calling and the threats and the spitting. Apparently, getting involved in someone's personal life because you've been given a tip about a guy suspected of killing his wife because she was missing - she was actually away screwing his friend - is not a good thing. He's been suspended from work until the wife is under control and takes back her threat to sue; it's not indefinite, they want him too much, but it gives Stiles the time to evaluate his life, find his priorities and see his family for longer than a weekend. 

And this kid his father called him about the night before.

To say Stiles was grateful to get a call asking for help was an understatement; after three days of sitting around in his apartment doing nothing, he was fucking relieved. It gives him the excuse he needs to come home without having to tell everyone he's temporarily out of a job. Plus he's never met a werewolf so young before and Stiles won't deny his curiosity. 

His dad didn't tell him much over the phone, just that he'd got a call about cries in the woods and found the child - who had been a wolf and freaking turned in front of him - hurt and alone. His dad figured it would be best to let them deal with the issue first and Stiles had to agree; he may not have met a young wolf before, he'd researched enough to know that they can be more temperamental and harder to control. They didn't want the whole town to know because they took the kid to the hospital before it was time. 

That is how Stiles finds himself driving home in the middle of the night during the week, reaching Beacon Hills just as the sun begins to rise over his head. If he's being honest, Stiles is so happy to be home that even the thought of taking care of a strange child doesn't faze him; he's missed his friends, his dad, his jeep. The car he's driving now is fine, reminds him a little of Derek's Camaro because it's sleek and black and built for speed. It also gets him through longer journeys than his jeep is capable of now, which is why it stays here rather than in San Francisco; he trusts people to look after it here. And by people, he means Scott. It's still early by the time he gets to his old home, but he figures his dad is up - if not because of work, then because of the toddler in his home. If the kid is anything like Stiles was, Sheriff Stilinski has been up for a while. 

Using his key to get in, Stiles steps into the living room and is surprised to find that the child is most definitely not like him. Three things come to mind when he sees the little boy sound asleep in the car seat on the floor - the kid is an anomaly, the stories his dad told about him as a child are greatly exaggerated, or stiles was just an abnormally horrible child. Since he doesn't know the child, Stiles likes to think it's option number two. 

He actually finds his dad asleep on the couch and is torn between letting him finally get some sleep - yeah, he can guess as to how the old man's life has been going - and waking him up. Regretting it instantly but needing more than what he got on the phone, Stiles shakes his dad awake. He wakes up in seconds, groggy and unaware of his surroundings, until his gaze lands on the baby and then on Stiles.

"I didn't expect you to get here until," he checks his watch, "much later." 

Stiles shrugs and waits for him to move over before joining him on the couch. His eyes dart between the two other people in the room. "It sounded important, I didn't want to wait."

"What about work?" 

"I'm, er, working on a story as we speak," he lies, hoping his tone doesn't sound as awkward as he feels. "It's nothing big and as long as I check in every now and again, I'm good to stay here." 

That part is true; they want him to update them on the lack of trouble he's getting himself in, hoping it'll help by swearing that Stile was acting as a concerned citizen rather than a troublemaker, and he wants them to tell him about the cheating bitch trying to mess with his job, even though it's the husband he accused. Then again, he did reveal an affair. 

"So, tell me everything," he says before his dad can ask anymore questions. 

It seems to work; there's still a hint of suspicion in the old man's eyes, but his focus goes back to the baby the moment he sees the small boy shift in the seat. Thankfully, he remains asleep. 

"I told you pretty much everything that happened. I don't really know what else to say, except that I called Parrish after you and he's going to help me keep this quiet and find the parents. Once I know what to look for, that is." 

"How is he? You said he was hurt?" 

"Yeah, his right arm," his dad relays the incident again. "It didn't look broken because he was walking on it as a wolf, though only a little. And I checked it over when I got the pajamas on him; it didn't feel broken. And you've broken a fair few bones in your life, so I knew what to look for. Now he's sleeping on it without fuss, so I think he's fine." 

Stiles tilts his head and finds that his dad is right; the boy's body is turned into the seat, his right side tucked underneath him. His arm must have healed already. Still... "I'll take him to Derek first anyway; he can tell me what to do and then start looking after I make sure the little guy is alright. By the way, what's his name?" 

That leaves his father stumped, his eyes wide as he remembers that he saw nothing to indicate the boy had one; he had no clothes on with a tag inside and he wasn't exactly talking. "I don't know. Hopefully, we'll find out soon. I have to get ready for work. Are you sure you can handle this?" 

Stiles looks outraged, his eyes narrowed and his mouth open. "Dad, it's a little baby. How much trouble can taking him to Derek get me in?"

His dad doesn't dignify that with a response. 

*** 

The most powerful weapon a werewolf has is his senses. Everyone assumes the strongest is smell - Can you smell the hunter, Derek? Use your nose, Derek. Do I smell like sex, Derek? - and while Stiles is right that a werewolf's sense of smell is helpful, it is allowing all five to work together that truly makes a wolf powerful. 

In the mornings, Derek is not so powerful. After years of Alphas and Kanimas and a deadpool, his body has been trained to be a light sleeper, but the last year or so has been routine with the last couple of months being so quiet that he's gotten used to not being needed, to sleeping in, to not having to worry about the people in his pack. So while the sound of his front door sliding open wakes him, Derek isn't worried enough to get out of bed. He also doesn't try and focus on who it is; Lydia has taken to coming in and making sure he has enough essentials, though he's sure she only does it as a reason to scold him when she believes he doesn't, and if Scott is back from his trip he likes to stop by and drag him out of a run - sometimes a normal one, sometimes while shifted. 

He's not awake enough to focus even if he wants to, but he also knows that with someone in his loft he can't go back to sleep. So Derek pulls himself up, fixes the sweatpants he slept in after twisting in the night and heads down the stairs. A couple of years ago, he'd finally converted an upstairs for his bedroom because he realized that there was no point in telling the others to stop letting themselves into his home. At least with an upstairs there are no more... embarrassing incidents. 

It's only when he's half way to his kitchen when the thought of coffee disappears and the scent of another wolf finally finds its way to him. Derek spins around, surprised and confused to find Stiles watching him expectantly, a small child bouncing on his knee. The moment the kid sees Derek, he wriggles and cries to be let go, his arms outstretched. 

But all Derek says is, "It's Wednesday." 

Stiles frowns. It is a rare moment when Derek can say something that stumps the guy so much he's either completely serious or completely speechless. Either is a win in his book. "Yes. Yes, it is," the younger man finally says. 

"I normally don't expect you to bring me your problems until Saturday afternoon," he explains, too tired to amuse his sometimes friend with any form of dry humor. 

The kid is still squirming on his lap, but Stiles seems reluctant to let him go, instead choosing to cover his ears before saying something he clearly doesn't want the baby to hear. If the shocked look on his face is anything to go by. "One, this poor, innocent child is not a problem. Two, I come here with said child on my knee and that's all you can say?" 

Derek wonders how much coffee is needed before they continue whatever conversation the guy has come to have. 

"Dude, this little guy seems to really love you. He doesn't even know you yet." That stops Stiles in his tracks. "Oh, that's probably why." 

Derek rolls his eyes, faking a cough when the baby ends up scrunching his hand into a fist and gets Stiles in the nose. Stiles knows how amusing he found it, though, and does not share the feeling. But he can't help that the younger man has such funny facial expressions sometimes, especially when he doesn't mean to pull them. 

"It's because he recognizes my scent as werewolf," Derek finally let's him know. "He was born into a pack; that's all he's used to. So he wants it back and I'm the only one here." 

Satisfied that he's done his job as Helpful Derek this morning, he heads back into the kitchen and goes for his coffee pot. He doesn't really expect Stiles to follow, but that's only because he doesn't expect anything first thing in the morning. He does, baby on his hip, who starts struggling again the moment Derek is back in his line of sight. 

"Hey, will you take him?" Stiles almost pleads. "I don't want to put him down in case he tries to climb the stairs. I can't have him hurt after swearing to my dad I can handle looking after him." 

That earns him a scoff; it's never too early for that. "Stiles, I'm about to make a cup of coffee. Do you know what coffee is?"

"...A beverage?"

"A hot beverage," he corrects. "Giving a wriggling child to a guy about to pour steaming hot coffee will also disprove the theory that you can handle him. Also, I don't even know this kid or why you've brought him to my house. But I do know that's there's no way you're leaving him with me." 

"You're meaner than usual when you don't have your coffee," Stiles points out. "And I'm not giving him to you. How do you know he's in a pack?" 

Preparing his drink, Derek glances at the baby like it's obvious. "He's a toddler, Stiles. A strong, healthy teenager has a good chance of rejecting the bite, a baby has hardly any chance. And I can clearly smell wolf on him. He was born a wolf and since Omegas tend to want to be in a pack, they're less likely to procreate before then. So a pack." 

He takes his now full mug and heads back into the living room, catching the appreciative look on Stile's face when his answer is accepted. On the way out, he grabs what he's sure are Malia's chocolate hoops off the side and considers it a worthy breakfast for a lazy morning. 

This time he expects Stiles and the kid to follow. 

"I still don't know why you're here." 

"I'm leading up to it." 

Derek wonders how many times he can get Stiles off topic despite the obvious sitting on his knee as they get to the couch, before deciding to leave it. He needs to know why the most immature brat he knows has a kid. The pause grows when Stiles is hit in the face again and Derek finally feels enough pity to put his mug on the floor and awkwardly sit the kid on his own lap. Almost immediately, the baby settles down, his head resting on Derek's bare chest with his hand in his mouth. 

He must have pulled some sort of face because karma comes around to bite him on the ass when Stiles starts to laugh. 

"I guess your theory really is true. And that is why I'm here: his pack." He runs a hand through his hair, a fringe beginning to grow because he hasn't cut it in so long; on the outside he seems nervous, but Derek can hear how steady the guy's heartbeat is so knows that he hasn't become afraid to ask him for things again. "My dad found the little guy in the woods; some thought it was an animal, others thought it was a child, and it turned out to be, well, both. Anyway, he figured we - as in all of us - would have a better idea of what to do than he would because he's never really dealt with werewolf packs like this. So I said I'd bring him to you." 

"There's no way you're leaving him with me," he repeats resolutely. He can go after monsters, he can save his friends, but he knows that everyone will agree he's not equipped to take care of a kid. 

"I said I'm not, didn't I?" Stiles reminds him with a glare. "But you were born a wolf, so you know what he's probably going through and what he needs, so I'm asking for advice on how to look after him myself. If we can hang out here where we know no one will notice him until we know what to do with him. And if you can use your wolfy connections to find his pack." 

Derek raises an eyebrow at the casual way the guy refers to his 'wolfy connections', but can't find it in himself to say no to an unusually reasonable request from him. He opens his mouth to eat a chocolate hoop before responding, not realizing that he's somehow given it to the baby until he gurgles happily and holds out a hand for more. 

"Fine," he says. "You can stay here with him and I will look for the pack."

"Awesome. Oh, my dad will be helping if you need it; he's making calls. He won't say werewolf obviously, but if they're not here in Beacon Hills we'll have somewhere to start."

"I doubt they'll be too far," Derek points out with a frown. "Wolves can be frighteningly protective of the pups in their pack. Besides, he's someone's baby; people are generally fond of their children. He probably just wondered off." 

"I doubt he got too far with a twisted leg that turned into a right arm," Stiles admits, his eyes on said arm as though he might still hurt. "It's healed now, at least we figure because he looks fine, but Dad wants him to get checked out at the hospital anyway. If you think that's wise; I mean, he hasn't shifted since Dad found him, but you've told me how young werewolves can be so that's all on you, big guy." 

"You want me to go with you?"

"I wasn't going to ask," Stiles answers, deadpan. He earns his second scoff of the morning; he may have gained a little more muscle tone over the years, but compared to Derek he's still pale, skinny, defenseless Stiles. No way can he make Derek go. 

"What's his name?" he asks instead of getting into a pointless argument. 

Stiles shrugs, clearly bothered by that. "No idea. He woke up in the car and I tried out names during the ride here, but he didn't seem interested in any of them and he didn't act like he recognized one that might be his own. You can ask him, but he's, like, two and not exactly talking. So I've taken to calling him little guy or little wolf until he likes a name I suggest. So little wolf, meet sourwolf," Stiles turns to Derek with a mocking frown, "Sourwolf, meet little wolf." 

He just hands the baby back, figuring he's satisfied with the scent of werewolf. He goes to Stiles without complaint and Derek stands. "I'm going to get dressed." 

All the way up the stairs, Derek tells himself he shouldn't have gotten out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter. I was going to post it yesterday, but then I noticed that there were, like, 800+ hits and 70+ kudos and I wanted to see which would win. :P
> 
> YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME FOR THAT! :D
> 
> Sam.


	3. Koda

They have to take Derek's car to the hospital. 

Stiles told him he had plans for later before they left the loft, plans that involved the need of his jeep and not Derek, but the moment they get outside he realizes the flaw in his plan - his back seats have no seat belts. 

Derek, though it pains him to do so, keeps his mouth shut, even though his lips curve up a little. Even so, the bastard still glares at him and mutters a tense 'shut up' that he absolutely means. Derek can see him thinking, can actually imagine the cogs in his insane, little mind turning, and wonders if Stiles is ready to ask him to stay after all. In all honesty, he's kind of hoping for that; he has better things to do with his time than sit in a cold, gray room and watch doctors poke and prod at an infant he doesn't even know. Like that waitress who always tries to work the morning shift just to serve Derek his breakfast and flirt. 

Instead, Stiles drops the baby in Derek's arms, just knowing that it would be better than asking because Derek wouldn't let the kid fall to the ground, grabs the car seat out of the front seat of his car and impatiently gestures to Derek to unlock his own. The baby seat goes into the back, which looks cramped enough without the damn thing, and then he puts the kid in it and climbs into the front. 

Derek watches it all before he gets into the driver's side and starts the car. The child's shriek, quickly followed by what can only be described as an enthusiastic giggle, has them both turning around, foreheads almost touching because the space between them isn't big enough to see behind them properly unless they get really close. He continues to giggle, staring at his surroundings. 

"I take it he's never been in a car before he met us," Stiles guesses, looking up for confirmation. "He's been like that each time." 

Derek shrugs, reversing the car and making his way toward the hospital. The sounds of the child laughing and sighing and making all other kinds of noises in the back distracts him, but he manages to answer eventually. "Some packs stick closer to nature, they travel around looking for suitable places to turn, like mountains and deserts, and they keep the modern world to a minimum. There are even one or two feral packs, who only live in the woods. He might never have even seen a car." 

"I like how you're being all helpful today," Stiles comments rather than staying on subject. 

"I'm working under the philosophy that if I help you now, you'll go away later," Derek confesses, keeping his eyes on the road. But he hears the scoff directed at him and he is sure there is an eye roll somewhere.

"That's not a philosophy, that's an assumption." 

"Am I right?" Derek asks. 

Stiles sucks in his cheeks, so determined to say no. In the end, he let's out a sort of half growl-half sigh and nods his head. "Yes. But only because I've already told you I have plans." 

Of course, Derek remembers that. "And who is the unwilling soul I have to warn?" 

"Lydia." 

"Oh." From the corner of his eye, he catches Stiles' look of surprise, can no longer see his eyebrows now that they're raised and above the mess that is his hair. The kid definitely caught the not-quite smile upon hearing the name. "Have fun." 

"I don't want to know what she's been doing to you." 

Derek wishes that what Lydia had been doing was something worse than just yelling at him for not stocking up his fridge, just so he could tell Stiles in excruciating detail. Unfortunately, he quite bring himself to lie to the idiot he's come to know, sometimes respect and generally feel some form of pity for. 

And if that's not messed up, Derek doesn't know what is. 

So he goes back to the road, this time choosing to listen to the boy's coos. From the mirror, he can see the kid point and fidget, his hand on the window, and the little blue jacket he's been wearing all morning slides up so that Derek can finally see the t-shirt he's wearing underneath. 

"Stiles," he begins with a frown, "did you put him in a pink princess t-shirt?" 

The man by his side immediately turns a deep shade of red, his head turning between the kid and Derek a good few times before he finally settles in his seat and keeps his gaze on the window. 

"Dad had to go to the couple who called the station to get the car seat and ask for clothes."

"And...?" he prompts. 

If anything, Stiles only goes redder. "They have a three year old daughter." 

It's quickly becoming the strangest, funniest day he's ever had with anyone and once more he wants to laugh. But this time he holds it in surprisingly well and Stiles doesn't even notice, though that might be because he's too busy trying to fight the blush still painting his cheeks. He understands the predicament the sheriff must have been in, to sort out a shifted wolf cub in the limited time available; he was only small himself when Cora had first shifted away from their house, but he remembers it well enough. She'd ripped her dress and had had to wear his jumper going back. He also understands why Stiles might be embarrassed; whether it's his kid or not, a guy still tends to be uncomfortable seeing a boy in girl's clothes. 

He knows what Stiles' plan is. 

"Lydia's taking you shopping for him."

"She doesn't know it yet," he replies with a shrug, the blush fading now. "Not that she'll kick up a fuss when she sees him. I suspect we'll be in the cheap sections for about fifteen minutes - thirty at the most - before she gets annoyed of my sighs for only being able to afford the bare minimum and insists on saving the kid with 'better things'." 

The car stops near the side of the hospital and Derek looks him in the eye. "You're a horrible person."

Stiles remember another time he'd been told that; Derek had been there then, too. "I know. You'd think I'd learn. Come on, big guy. With any luck, Mrs. McCall is waiting for us." 

Outside by the car, as he waits for Stiles to get the kid, Derek wonders if the waitress is at the diner. He bets she's missing him. 

*** 

Mrs. McCall is waiting for them, which Stiles considers a pleasant surprise, despite wishing for it, until she explains that his father really did drop by on his way to the station and informed her of what was going on. He decides his dad needs something better than socks in his Christmas stocking this year. It's so much easier to get into an empty room when he doesn't have to answer awkward questions in front of potential prying ears first. They'd already been noticed twice, once by an elderly woman who just wanted to coo at the kid, which was fine, but Stiles is sure he went to high school with the other. She'd given him the strangest look and he just knew the news that 'the sherif's son has a kid' would reach the rest of his old classmates by the end of the day. If he's lucky. 

He's rarely lucky. 

"A friend of yours?" Derek asks just to torment him, Stiles is sure. The asshole by his side knows exactly how many friends he has in Beacon Hills. He can even name them. Though whether he adds his own name to the list, Stiles isn't sure. 

He doesn't answer that, only follows Mrs. McCall into the examination room and puts the baby on the bed. He remains on his feet at first and cries, trying desperately to be picked up, but after a fair bit of cajoling he's not even sure any two year year old can understand, let alone a werewolf, and Derek carrying him in his arms and lying him straight onto his back, the baby quiets down a little. 

"You have a fan, Derek," Mrs. McCall points out, not even bothering to hide her smile. Stiles wonders how she can do that in front of him. Then again, she's never been on the receiving end of a threat or being knocked into a wall or... there's a list, he leaves it at that. 

"He just needs a firmer hand." 

Mrs. McCall starts the tests, checking his pulse, his arm, everything that doesn't require equipment other than the things she has in her hands. It takes a few minutes, minutes that Stiles passes by by coming up with more names the kid might like or recognize. He's deciding Toby isn't good enough when Scott's mum moves away. 

He catches Derek look up from the pamphlet he's holding. 

"You can tell your dad to stop worrying," she says with a reassuring smile, tickling the boy's chest lightly until he bats his arms up and down and laughs. "I can order scans and x-rays and tests, but I'm sure they will all tell you that he is a happy, healthy two year old boy. Everything now is just a precaution."

Stiles eyes the blood sample between her fingers. 

"I have to get back to work, you can leave whenever you're ready," she says as she walks out the door. 

"Happy, healthy and shift-free," Derek adds on, dropping the pamphlet onto the table he'd probably picked it up from, and kicks off of the wall. "My time has been wasted enough. Can I go now?" 

"He is such a sourwolf. Isn't he, Michael?" The baby shows no response to that and Derek only rolls his eyes. "Not a Michael then." Stiles picks the baby up and balances him in his hip, turning to the older werewolf. "Aren't you even a little curious as to who he is and who left him alone?" 

Derek nods. "Yes, I'm curious. I want to know who left the kid in the woods, I want to give the kid back. I don't want to play domestic housewife with you and look after him. So I will go to the woods and start tracking, if that is alright with you."

He sounds so casual as he talks, so normal about the idea of just handing the kid over like some kind of business deal, that Stiles wonders if the guy is truly as annoyed as he might have once thought or if Derek genuinely doesn't care. 

Stiles chooses not to think about it. "I think he's forgetting that he's our ride, Harry. Not a Harry, eh? James? Matthew? Derek?"

The boy's frown is the only reason he thought to suggest the last name, but now that he looks harder, he's sure that the way the boy's thinner eyebrows pull together when the frown deepens makes him a worthy Derek substitute. Plus with the similar hair color and the dark eyes, he passes off as Derek's more than he does as Stiles'. 

Not that he'll tell older Derek that. Ever. 

"You know, I'm gonna have to give you a name eventually," he says instead, almost subconsciously following Derek out of the door. "I didn't get to pick my real name, I don't know why I'm letting you pick yours, Cody." 

The two year old puts a hand in his mouth, but the frown disappears. Interest, maybe? Stiles tries again. "Koda." 

The baby's mouth widens around his fingers. "Ko-Da," he repeats. They seem more like two different words than a name, but it's close enough for Stiles. 

"Koda. Alright, buddy, you have a name. And you can talk."

"Ko-Da," he says again. 

It's a start. 

"Do you think he recognizes it? Do you think that's his actual name?"

"I don't know," Derek answers. "Do you need me to drive you to Lydia's or do you want to get your jeep and drive yourself?" 

It takes him a couple of seconds to decide what he wants to do, but keeps quiet for a couple of minutes just to piss the other guy off. He really deserves to be punished for his attitude. It's only when Derek actually growls that he opens his mouth.

"Just give me the car seat. I'll call Lydia to come get me from here," he says. The seat is on the ground just as he finishes his sentence. Derek is driving off before he can finish a breath. 

One hand digs into his pocket for his phone while he turns to Koda. "Don't ever turn out like Derek, kid. It's not worth the hassle."

*** 

Stiles had been wrong. 

It takes less than ten minutes for Lydia to put her foot down and tell him that Koda needs saving from his choices, and he's sure it only goes on for that long because she decided to humor him in the beginning. He didn't tell her about the baby on the phone, knowing that curiosity alone would have her coming for him eventually, and the moment she saw the kid he was in her arms and she was going on about how she was here to save the day. 

He's still in her arms, handing Stiles clothes to hold up against the clearly distressed child - or maybe he's the distressed one? - so that she can yay or nay it. A lot goes back, even more goes into the baskets he also has to carry around. And it's not just clothes she comes to, but other essentials like toys and bottles and diapers, which has Stiles wondering if he's been toilet trained or if he lived as a wolf. 

Stiles knows that Derek is going to kill him when Lydia buys Koda a bed. 

It's not a particularly big bed, suitable for a child his age and size, and one he can take apart and put together, so he can easily take it his dad's house. But Derek said yes to them hanging out in his loft, so that is - appropriately - where all the toys are going, which means he will see the bed before Stiles has a chance to explain how unbelievably right it would be for him and Koda - because Stiles isn't insane enough to give the kid solely to Derek at night - to stay at his loft until the kid can go back. That way his dad can do his job without needing to worry too much about if he'll be fired for not following protocol. And Derek is going to figure it out and - 

Yeah, he's gonna die. 

"Lydia, I don't think is a very good idea."

"Koda needs something to sleep on, Stiles," she huffs in a way only she can - scarily polite on the outside, but leaves you wondering how she will kill you if you cross her. And she has a supernatural cop for a boyfriend now - she can definitely get away with it. 

"I know," he placates, but continues to try anyway, "but I haven't had a chance to tell Derek my idea and I kind of don't want to die." 

"Kind of?" 

Stiles shrugs, still worried about the potential end of his life today. "Given our track record, I'm resigned to the fact that it could happen. But that doesn't mean I have to like it and I really don't want Derek to do it." 

Stiles has other plans for Derek, deep in the back of his mind and only allowed out on special occasions. Lydia doesn't need to know that. God knows what she'd do with the information. 

"Derek won't hurt you while I'm around," she seems to promise. Stiles can't remember her ever trying to stop the guy. "Stiles is just being silly, isn't he, Koda?" 

Koda giggles. 

Stiles ducks his head to look the boy in the eye. "Traitor." 

"I don't know why you're getting so worked up about this," Lydia continues, gratefully taking a couple of the lighter bags in her free hand so that Stiles can hold the box with the bed in under his arm and carry the rest as they walk to the car. It's a slow walk, but they manage it without dropping anything. Though Stiles is sure she's broken his back. "I mean, sure Derek thinks you're a hyperactive idiot and you think he's a - what do you call him?"

"A brooding sourwolf who needs to get the stick out of his ass and drink way more than half a cup of coffee in the morning just to be considered an okay person," he prompts without taking a breath. 

"Yeah, that, and you argue more than you talk. But I think he actually likes you more than any of the others."

"The others as in not including you?" She nods once, as though it's obvious she's not included because of course Derek likes her. Stiles works on getting everything to fit in her car instead of responding to that. "So, like as in he actually considers me a friend or like as in 'yeah, I'd fuck him'? I just want to be prepared for how likely he is to kill me; he might not consider our friendship worth saving, but I find sex is always worth it."

Her pout and the way her eyes glance upward tell Stiles she's thinking about her answer. But how seriously she's taking it, he doesn't know. Finally, her answer is, "You'll have to ask him that." 

Her answer is unhelpful, that's what it is. 

With everything finally in the car, including them and Koda, Lydia starts the engine and smiles at him in a way that is nothing but creepy. "So, Derek's place then?" 

"I hate you." 

*** 

His waitress isn't at the diner by the time he gets there, but he still orders his bacon and eggs and finally gets that much needed supply of caffeine in his system. He can't really remember when he became so dependent on the stuff in the mornings, but he knows it started some time when Stiles had been possessed by the Nogitsune and sleep had been a hinderance. 

After breakfast, he goes home to change and leaves for his run alone. It's not the first time he's gone alone, but it's still feels odd without Scott around to talk about his plans for the pack, to hear him whine when Derek pushes the run from moderate to intense. He knows he really shouldn't be helping Scott to train and focus or tell him what to do, not when he's technically joined Scott's pack - Derek may be the only one who can fully transform into a wolf, but the younger man is still the True Alpha - but he can't help it. And he thinks Scott knows that; the kid puts serious consideration into his ideas, listens when they train. They've finally built a sense of trust that works for them. Six years since Scott was bitten and they finally feel like a pack. 

Stiles' jeep is still parked in front of his building when he gets back and the further up the stairs he climbs, the better he can tell himself the too trusting idiot is not back with the cub. It allows for him to take a shower, dress and find something for lunch without being disturbed. Then he can track the pack in the woods. 

He's in the fridge and wondering if turkey would be better than cheese when the door flies open and more then one person steps into his loft, but only one of them sounds like they're dying. He comes into the living room and watches Stiles huff and pant, collapsing to his knees and dropping a large, rectangular shaped box. Behind him is Lydia, who is holding the baby, and Parrish, carrying more bags. 

"You... need... to fix... your elevator," Stiles whispers, slowing standing on shaky legs.

"It's on my to-do list," Derek murmurs, finally able to see what the box says now that Stiles' hands have moved. It's a freaking infant bed, complete with safety bars. He can guess what's in the bags, which don't seem to be all - Parrish says that he'll be right back and take off. 

He tries to remain calm. "Stiles, what the hell is going on?"

"Lydia might have gone a little overboard," he replies as quickly as his lungs will allow him. Judging from her eye roll, she expected him to tattle. 

"You said he needed clothes and entertainment. One toy and a few t-shirts were not going to cut it," she points out. 

Parrish comes back with more bags and disappears again. Derek realizes that 'overboard' was an understatement. 

"Why are they in my house? The kid is staying with Stiles." 

The man in question has the nerve to feign offense. "You said we can hang out here. Are you really going to go back on your word just because of a few toys?" 

"No, but the bed might," he snaps. 

"Boys, you're upsetting Koda," Lydia warns them, almost dangerously. Both their heads turn to her, as if only just realizing that the child is here. His lower lip wobbles and he hiccups loudly, like one might when fighting tears, watching them both. 

Stiles is ready to take him, reassuring the little boy that everything is okay. Derek allows himself to smile for the kid. "Stiles, I'll kill you for this later." 

He probably won't, or he'll probably let the man explain first, but the thought of having a kid in his house was scary enough without seeing all the bags. Now he's more than a little terrified. The last time he'd looked after a kid, his family had been alive and even then he'd panicked and tried to pass off any duties on Laura or an older cousin. It just isn't something he knows how to do, nor is it something he really wants to do. Training teenage wolves is one thing... And the idea of learning to with Stiles of all people is more than a little nauseating. 

Sure he likes the guy most of the time, has even allowed a fantasy or two without overanalyzing it, but looking after a child is something entirely different to sex. The story of how Stiles accidentally killed his hamster after a couple of months comes to mind. 

The scent of two others entering his loft breaks Derek from his reverie and he goes back to making his sandwich, focusing on Scott and Kira talk about the texts they got rather than listening to his own thoughts. It's the boy's cry that has him pausing everything, though he imagines that too many scents is just a shock to the young boy's senses until Stiles yells his name. 

He rushes into the living room, not liking the tone the man uses. He searches the others and the living room for Koda, not finding him to Stiles points to the corner of the loft his bed used to go. On the floor is a pile of shredded clothes and just a little further back, almost hidden by shadows, lies a quivering wolf, a fully transformed wolf, with glowing red eyes. 

Derek's never seen anything like it, would tell himself it isn't the two year old he left just moments before if not for the witnesses. Stiles voices his own thoughts. 

"Okay, now I'm a little scared."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, the mystery officially begins.


	4. Answers

It's the right call making Derek pick up the terrified werewolf, not only because Koda feels safer around his scent than anyone else's but because the man is also a werewolf and won't be hindered by a few bites and scratches. Later Stiles will tease Derek over the way he held the baby, close and gentle and safe, but all the way to the animal clinic he is worried and scared and more than a little freaked. Now is not the time to tease. 

Plus Derek has _that_ to tease him over, has already started with his quips about how the kid was just startled and that he overreacted, so Stiles needs time to get over that. 

"You looked freaked out, too. Or did you conveniently forget about that?" Stiles snaps back, hands gripping the wheel so tight they're white. He never takes his eyes off the road. 

So he doesn't see the mildly condescending eye roll that accompanies the scoff he hears come from the man by his side. He can, however, imagine it clearly in his mind and that's almost the same. 

"I did not look freaked out, more... nervous," Derek has the decency to inform him. At least he is in his own head, Stiles knows. "Not because he turned, that's the most normal thing I've seen since you brought him to my place. But," he stops, takes a deep breath and forces himself to carry on, "I have never seen a child with the red eyes of an Alpha before and I would like to know how that is possible." 

"Why did he turn?" Stiles has to know. 

From the corner of his eye, he can see Derek run a hand through the still quivering wolf cub on his lap. The boy has stopped crying, though - or, in his current state, howling. That has to be a good thing. 

"Because he was scared," Derek says simply, sounding more cautious and gentle than Stiles has ever heard come from him. _Because he understands_ , the words echo inside his head. Derek was born a wolf, of course he understands. "To have that kind of reaction makes it clear that he hasn't ever been around so many people before. The number of scents overwhelmed him and having so many strangers looking at him was terrifying. It was a reflex to turn; either the kid feels safer as wolf or he was taught to turn and run. So relax, Stiles. This is fine. It's the eyes that worry me." 

"See, I knew taking him to you was the right thing to do," Stiles told him with a somewhat shaky laugh. 

Derek chooses to end the discussion by simply ignoring Stiles, hands still cradling the cub and his eyes glued to the window. The moment Stiles breaks, he is out of the jeep and heading to the door, leaving Stiles inside. With a sigh - though it's more out of relief for what he's been told about the boy's reaction than the fact that Derek is back to ignoring him and isn't that the strangest thing ever? - Stiles leans back in his seat to grab the first bag of clothes he'd had the foresight to bring. The kid might change back while in the clinic and it won't do to take him back to the loft in nothing but his birthday suit. 

_Speaking of the loft..._ he whips his phone out of his pocket and sends a quick message to Lydia to prepare for another, the second a warning to the wolves to get out if Koda is still distressed by the time they get back or the okay to stay if he isn't. He would have sent it to Scott, except he'd be too curious about the color of the baby's eyes and too cautious for the pack to listen. Lydia, though, has spent time with Koda so is more likely to get the others to go if she has to. 

Her confirmed _will do_ is proof of that. 

The clinic's reception is empty and Stiles makes his way into the back before he even thinks to listen out for their voices. At some point over the years, just walking through became second nature to them; he isn't sure that's totally a good thing, given that he isn't Scott so he was usually in danger or preparing for danger rather than working, but he welcomes it right now. Derek and Deaton are standing around the metal table in the middle of the room, Koda pushed up as close to Derek's chest as he can be and sitting as a nervous puppy might, but sitting rather than hiding which is good enough for Stiles. 

"Nice to see you back in town, Stiles," Deaton greets with his familiar, thin smile. "Derek was just informing me of what had happening at the loft. Care to fill in any blanks?"

Deaton relays to Stiles what he himself had relayed to Derek in the car, so he shakes his head and moves to stand beside Derek. He reaches out a hand to Koda's head, imagining that he's a child again and is able to run his hand through his hair, and is thankful when the kid accepts the gesture for the comfort it is. 

"Can you explain the eyes, Deaton?" Derek asks, the demand there in his tone even though he physically tries to force it down. His jaw tenses, teeth almost clenched as he speaks. 

They're both surprised when Deaton chuckles; they don't generally get good news out of the older man when they want answers, so it's usually Scott who gets more than a friendly smile. 

"Sometimes, Derek, I think you train so hard and try to teach the younger wolves so much because you regret not staying awake during your own lessons." 

Deaton is still grinning as he talks, so much so that Stiles is wondering if the man is making some sort of inside joke that only the Hale family might have gotten. From the way Derek's cheeks tinge pink, though, he knows whatever they mean must be true. 

"We're not here to talk about me," Derek mutters. 

Shaking his head, Deaton gestures to the cub, knowing better than to touch him. "Do you remember what your mother taught you about Alpha-less packs that die out naturally?" 

"They merge?" he answers, his rare show of unsureness making it sound like a question. 

"Do you remember how?" Deaton continues. This time, Derek shakes his head and his embarrassment for not paying attention as a child makes itself known no matter how much he tries to hide it. Stiles fights the urge to awkwardly pat his shoulder. Deaton's gaze falls on Koda again. "When two packs are dying out, one from each pack will come together and make a child. The two packs will have been life long allies or friends and the union has to be consensual on both sides. The child they make will be born an Alpha - not a true Alpha, but close enough that people often distinguish them so - and he or she will bind the pack as one, strengthening numbers and preparing to take charge of the pack once they reach adulthood. Should they choose to, of course. Pack numbers may still be too small and they may join others in the usual way or there may be members strong enough to take on the role, either naturally or by force."

Stiles gulps at the thought of someone killing a child just for power, though he knows firsthand how wanted that kind of power is and wouldn't put it past anyone. But the idea of it happening to any child, not just Koda, makes his heart ache a little. To be murdered because of something they are born with is a terrible thing. 

"What happens to the child if they choose not to be an Alpha?" Stiles asks, needing the more innocent question to take his mind away from violent images of something coming after Koda just because of his eyes. 

"The red disappears, turns to gold as it should have been," Deaton replies and Stiles' relief is so apparent that Derek sniggers. The bastard. "It's rare for a child to be born because of such a union, only because most werewolves tend to just look for a new pack; a child Alpha isn't a comfort nowadays and they're too vulnerable when it comes to threats. Have you found his pack yet?"

Derek shakes his head, arms loosening as Koda becomes more comfortable in his surroundings and starts to wander the table. His small ears twitch as he looks toward the door where the animals are held, but Stiles has his arm out to catch the kid before he can charge toward it and fall off. 

"I was on my way out to look when this happened," he informs the vet. "Stiles... insisted we come here to make sure the kid was alright and I wanted to know about the eyes, so I agreed. Don't think he's a saint, though; he's just trying to prove to the sheriff that he won't screw up."

What little gratitude Stiles had felt for the man by his side for not tattling about his freak out jumps off its own cliff and plummets to its death once the dick has finished. 

"That is not true," he snaps. Koda yelps right after. "See, even the kid agrees with me." 

_Umph._ Koda transforms from his tiny wolf form to a slightly larger human toddler, legs wobbling until he falls on his stomach and giggles. The sound strikes Stiles as guilty, but he can't quite figure out why he thinks so. Unable to stop his own smile, Stiles pulls out the first outfit he sees out of the bag by his side and drops them onto the table. He fights with the wriggling child to stand him up and put the clothes on, the jeans slipping between his fingers twice before each leg finally goes in. Stiles is looking for Koda's head in the t-shirt and ignoring an unhelpful Derek when the baby says his second word of the day. 

"Kitty." His head pops out of the top and this time, smiling broadly, he points to the door. "Kitty." 

"You can't have the kitty, Koda," Stiles tells him, aiming for stern like he remembers his father trying to be, but it comes out happier than he intended. Still, Koda pouts and fights to get down, squirming when Stiles picks him up to keep him in his arms, so the words themselves being enough makes it a victory either way. Once done, he turns back to Deaton. "So the eyes are not bad and him turning because of the number of people is normal?"

"You will have to find his pack before you can say what's normal for Koda, but I'd say so," the vet assures him. "Warn him about the others before you let him back in the loft and if you need anything else, you know where I am." 

"Warn him? He's a baby, how are we meant to warn him?" Derek demands, deadpan.

Deaton takes a moment to watch Koda, who squirms once more under his gaze but feels safe enough in Stiles' arms to not turn again. "His size is dependent more on genes and his environment than age, but if I have to make an educated guess based on his reactions, I will say that he is two to three years old. Just because he isn't speaking much, it doesn't mean he can't. He may not understand things the way an adult might, but he's learning like any other child and being able to talk to him in a way that will make sense is possible." 

The look Derek gives Deaton and then Koda is skeptical at best, but he nods and stretches out a hand in a gesture for Stiles to move. Stiles bends down to pick up the bag and thanks Deaton for his time before doing as he's essentially being told. 

Outside, Stiles digs into his pocket for his keys and is ready to get Derek to drive when Koda kicks and screams until he's forcing the kid into the unwilling man's arms. 

"Yeah, now you're freaked out," he let's a snigger of his own. He's so going to pay for that later, but it will be entirely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long - I took part in NaNo, won after eleven days and apparently took a break for another eleven (uni work not included). Anyway, I aim to continue updating this as before - I hope to get through some chapters today and plan out the rest of the story, so updates can be somewhat regular. We'll see how that goes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, learnt a little bit more about Koda and have hopefully started to pick up on a clue or two. ;)
> 
> Sam.

**Author's Note:**

> So, not only is this my first story posted here, but it is also my first Sterek. I'm very excited. I hope you all are, too.


End file.
